


Ruinous Age

by utmost_at_most



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Dubious References to Greater Tolkien Mythos, F/M, Infrequent Mentioning of Bilbo/Dwarves, M/M, Tragic Romance, Who Shows Up Eventually, except Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utmost_at_most/pseuds/utmost_at_most
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kind of love that Elladan and Legolas shared is forbidden by the Valar. Elladan returns to the Woodland Realm after a long exile unsure of what he will find there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first real LOTR fic I've ever written. It's just me mucking around with Tolkien's wonderful world. Hope no one minds! To anyone who drops by: thanks for reading/accidentally clicking onto this page!

The trees of Mirkwood were not the same as Elladan remembered them. He had come down from the Misty Mountains and ridden hard across the plain, anticipating the forest of his youth, where he had spent many golden days, yet it was nowhere to be found. Formerly lush trees were black and twisted, with knotty protrusions, almost like tumors, disfiguring their trunks. Even the leaves, which had once seemed like emerald shards, were altered, the color of rot. Their journey into the forest had so far lasted several hours. Still, the wall of black trees never thinned. They spotted no signs of animal life and heard no birds. In the almost total silence their horses’ footfalls seemed abnormally loud. _Thump. Thump._ They sounded like the heartbeats of a dying Mirkwood. For Elladan, the dissonance between what he remembered and what he saw now was startling.

“This is worse than I feared,” he said to Estel. His foster-brother rode close behind him, afraid to lose sight of him in the growing gloom. “I was told the forest had changed, was dark even, but I did not think it had come to this. There is nothing green here at all. Not a single leaf.”

“And the path is almost gone,” said Estel, “The stones are either broken or missing altogether. We shall get lost if we don’t take care.” He grimaced. “If we haven’t already.”

“I don’t think I could ever forget the way to King Thranduil’s halls, at least I used to think so. I’ve made the journey countless times. And yet,” said Elladan, “I would hate getting lost in this stifling dark. I feel as though we’re in a cave.”

“It’s like being choked,” grumbled Estel. “I would prefer the stinging wind of the mountains to this. I can hardly catch my breath.” His horse, for all that it was one of the fleet-footed mares from Lord Elrond’s stables, stumbled over a root that curved out of a crack in the middle of one of the paving stones. He lurched over the horse’s neck and nearly lost his seat in the saddle. “It was high noon when we left the plain, wasn’t it, brother? It’s black as midnight now. Think you I should light a lantern? I’m nearly blind.”

Elladan squinted in the darkness, but his sight was keen in the way of Elves, and he could still see, though not well. It seemed as though, not far off, something moved in one of the trees. What it was he could not say.

“No!” he whispered. “There is something out there. It might be that it’s one of the Necromancer’s foul servants, a huge spider of the sort _adar_ warned us about.” He put his hand on the hilt of the great sword, which hung from a belt on his hip. “A light would only bring it near.”

Estel likewise reached for his sword, his long fingers trembling for battle. Despite his young years, he had a taste for it that his foster-brothers, the Peredhil twins, encouraged, for they were ever on the hunt for Orcs. “It is nothing we couldn’t handle,” he said.

“Don’t be so sure,” cautioned Elladan. “It is never wise to tempt evil. The Wood-elves, so I’ve been told, fear the southernmost reaches of the forest. They are hardy warriors, fiercer than most, and even they have difficulty keeping the shadow at bay.”

“Elrohir told me you were close with them,” said Estel, straining his eyes for any sudden movement. “Thranduil’s kin.”  

Elladan stiffened. “At one time perhaps. What else did he tell you?”

“Only that you had come to some hurt in this wood,” said Estel, “that distanced you from your friends here. I did not press him for more than that.”

“Good. He was right to leave it there. There are some things that should be left alone. But I hope to mend the old hurts if I can. If, indeed, such a thing is possible.”

Elladan sounded so remarkably sad that it made Estel wonder. Elladan hid his feelings from almost everybody, except Elrohir, who was the keeper of all his thoughts. Estel was not jealous. He knew the bond between twin brothers was more profound than could ever exist between foster-brothers who were not even of the same race. And yet he wished Elladan would open up to him. He was highly conscious of his status as a man in an Elven household. Of late he had felt the distinction even more strongly. It bit at his self-pride, which, as he had only recently come to manhood, was struggling to assert itself.

“I would not worry,” he said, with a wry smile. “Thranduil can hardly rebuff our offer of friendship. We’ve brought him a kingly gift.”

“A diamond pendant from the First Age, he would hardly refuse that.”

“Is he as fond of jewels as they say, brother?”

“He keeps his precious things close,” was the surprisingly terse reply.

There was a sudden movement in the branches above them. It was so near their horses almost bolted in fright, but they cried out an Elvish command, and the animals stayed. Three giant spiders larger than wild boars descended on sticky threads from the treetops. They scuttled their legs and snapped their fearsome fangs, shooting thick webbing at Elladan and Estel, who had barely enough time to draw their swords. Together they chopped down the boldest, yet as soon as they had done this, the remaining two were on top of them. Elladan’s horse threw him and he landed hard on the ground. But this fall would prove lucky.They had desired to move discreetly through the forest but had instead managed to disturb an entire nest of spiders.Where there had been two, now there were a half dozen more. Three working together roped Elladan’s squealing mare in a tangled net and hauled the poor beast into high branches. One jumped on Elladan, still sprawled on his back, but he stuck it through the belly, killing it.

Estel had also been thrown from his horse, though he was unhurt. He was battling two spiders, and managed to kill one with great difficulty. In the dark he was forced to rely on his instincts rather than his eyes to fend off his eight-legged attackers.

“This is impossible!” he shouted, slashing wildly at the head of the second spider. It drew back with a hideous shriek.

“Ai! Behind you!” cried Elladan, rushing to Estel’s aid. He plunged his sword into the hairy back of a third, sending up a spray of blood.

Their battle with the spiders lasted a long while, and they killed many, though it took all their skill. Estel’s sword arm began to ache and, lacking Elven endurance, he wearied. Yet he must keep light on his feet, for if he paused, even for a moment, a spider could prick him with its stinger and roll him up in a web. Finally, when it seemed that he had no strength left, the surviving spiders, seeing that they could not defeat the pair without bringing about the destruction of their entire nest, contented themselves with the captured horses and scurried away. Elladan struggled with a lone holdout. It threw itself on top of him, but was soon dead, a dagger lodged deep in its brain.

“Are you hurt?” shouted Estel, as he scrambled over to his foster-brother.

“No,” said Elladan. “But we must move on, and quickly! The remaining spiders may regroup and come for us again.”

Beneath his feet Estel felt only packed earth and crumbling leaves. “We’ve lost the path!” he cried. “Can you see it?”

In the melee they had moved deeper into the shadows of the forest. The trees grew thicker away from the path, and the undergrowth was thicker too. The slithery vines and reddish grey ferns, which were somehow rampant, though little light reached them, wrapped around their ankles, slowing their movement, as did the silver-white spider webs. Elladan turned in all directions, but he could not find any trace of the path. It was as though it had simply vanished.

Centuries ago, when he was a frequent visitor to Thranduil’s realm, he used to joke that he could make his way to the Wood-elves’ dwelling with his eyes closed. But now, with the forest only evergreen in his memory, he was disoriented. He could not determine which direction was best. All was in darkness. This was the effect of the spider’s poison that was now clouding his mind. He had lied to Estel when he said he was uninjured, for fear that his foster-brother would insist on stopping and examining the wound when they had no time for it. There were dangers other than giant spiders lurking in Mirkwood, and the two of them, exhausted from the fight, might not be strong enough to meet whatever else was out there. The spider’s stinger had pierced his side, injecting him with poison. As the son of Elrond Half-elven, he was as great a warrior as any that still remained in Middle-Earth, but he knew, no matter how strong his body, that he was unlikely to withstand the poison for long. His only hope was to find Thranduil’s people. With them was surely a cure.

“We’ve lost Thranduil’s gift,” said Estel, trying to keep their spirits up. “I doubt spiders have much use for diamonds. We’ll never see that pendant again.”

“Our poor horses,” said Elladan with a sigh.

“Aye,” replied Estel, his smile faltering. “Poor Malrin. She deserved a far better end.”

Elladan led the way as best he could. It was difficult tramping through the brush, and he was unable to shake the fogginess from his head, which felt increasingly heavy.

“Are you all right?” asked Estel, who was a good tracker and knew Elladan was not leading them in the right direction. Indeed they were going in circles.

Elladan could only gasp in pain. The spider’s poison was intended to paralyze its victims, an excruciating process that left Elladan in agony as his limbs slowly stiffened to the point where he could hardly move them at all. Only his Elven healing abilities prevented him from being entirely paralyzed. He caught his heel in a recess in the ground and pitched forward. When Estel reached out and instinctively caught him, inadvertently placing his hand over the open wound, he could not keep from screaming, for the pain was worse than any he had ever felt in his long life.

Estel now knew that his foster-brother was hurt and he was more frightened by this than he had been by the spiders. Elrond had begun teaching him the healing arts, but without supplies, which were lost along with his horse, he could do nothing for Elladan except clutch him close to his breast.

“I wish that Elrohir were here,” murmured Elladan, struggling to stand.

“Yes,” whispered Estel sadly. “He would know what to do. Would that I had remained in Imladris in his stead.”

“No! _Adar_ was right to choose you. Elrohir’s business with Glorfindel could not be avoided. But you will be a king one day, Estel, and it is good for you to know the other Elven kingdoms in Middle Earth.”

“But I am useless to you now.”

“Not at all. You kept me from falling.” Elladan tried to offer a reassuring smile, but his strength was utterly spent. He sagged in Estel’s arms.

Behind him, to his horror, Estel heard the now familiar clicking of a spider’s jaws. The spiders had not retreated but had instead kept a close watch on Estel and Elladan, waiting for an opportunity to renew the attack. The fiercer of the two no longer posed much threat, and so they moved in, eager to sink their fangs into warm flesh.

Estel knew he only had a second to decide on a course of action. He had two choices: draw his sword and fight holding on to Elladan, an impossible task, or set Elladan down in the undergrowth, leaving his foster-brother utterly defenseless. Elladan was too far-gone now. His eyes were closed and he was motionless. Only his shallow breathing proved there was still life in him.

Although he lessened his own chances for survival, ultimately, Estel refused to let Elladan go. He would rather die than leave Elladan, whom he loved as if he were a full brother, to save his own skin. With his free hand he pulled his bloody sword from its sheath, realizing, in all likelihood, that this battle spelled the end for both of them.

Just as a pair of spiders closed in, ready to strike, an arrow whistled overhead. More arrows followed the first. In a few moments the attacking spiders were either dead or mortally wounded. It happened so quickly that Estel could only marvel as a group of Wood-elves, clad in burnished armor, burst through the trees, hopping swiftly from branch to branch, before jumping to the ground, their weapons aimed in his face.

“Stay where you are!” said an archer in accented Westron. “Who are you and what business do you have in Mirkwood?”

“I am Estel, foster-son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.” Estel was too wary to reveal his true name, which he had only recently learned himself. “We were to meet with King Thranduil, but we were waylaid by spiders. This is Elladan, son of Elrond, known to your people at one time. He’s been stung. You must help him.”

The archer turned and called out a name, and another Elf appeared. The two Elves whispered briefly to one another in rapid Sindarin, thinking their conversation unintelligible to a Man. But Estel, having been raised from infancy among Elves, was better versed in Sindarin than Westron, and he understood all that they said.

“It is a spider’s poison,” said the first Elf. “What are we to do? Think you there is time to make it back? We have not the means to heal him now.”

“He will die if we are not quick, Tauriel. I will not see him depart to Mandos’ halls. There is a clearing not far distant. I can try to draw out the poison there. It may be his only hope.”

“What are we to do with the boy?”

“Take him to the King.”

“No!” cried Estel, in perfect Sindarin. “I cannot leave him. He is my brother.”

The two Elves looked at him in surprise. The second Elf, who was tall and lithe, approached him and said: “Let me take him. This may be his only chance.”  

But only reluctantly did Estel let this strange Elf pull Elladan from his arms. “Save him,” he said.

“I will try.” The Elf hoisted Elladan on his back and shouted a command to Tauriel and the other Elves: “Take the boy and follow. All of you, keep close.” Then he bounded away, the fleetest of all his company.

“Who was that?” asked Estel to Tauriel.

“That was Legolas, son of the King,” she replied.

 

 

Legolas reached the small clearing long before the others. Elladan’s weight was nothing to him, and he ran like a deer, praying to Varda all the while, as he knew time was of the essence. He laid Elladan in the soft grass under a star-filled sky. The moon waxed full that night, and its light shone brightly on him as he set about his task.

He hastily but carefully cut away Elladan’s tunic and underclothes so as to better examine the wound on his left side. The spider had gotten him good: its stinger had left a gaping hole about as wide across as a child’s wrist. It leaked no blood, however, as spider venom necrotized flesh. The surrounding skin was a violent purple that was fast spreading.

“I may have just enough time, ” said Legolas.

He gazed up at the stars and murmured a short prayer: “O Elbereth Star-kindler, look towards me now, in the hour of my need.” Then he placed a soothing palm on Elladan’s brow and silently asked his forgiveness for the pain he was about to inflict.

He made a deep incision that neatly bisected the spider bite. Even in his semi-conscious state Elladan felt the knife slice into him, and he jerked at the pain, which would have ended any mortal. A wash of warm blood ran over Legolas’ hand. To rid the poison from Elladan’s body he would have to suck it out, otherwise it would soon travel to his heart, in which case there was no cure.

Estel and the other elves caught up to him in the clearing as he was in the midst of doing this, and it seemed to Estel a most savage procedure. The Wood-elves formed a wide perimeter around Legolas and Elladan, watching for threats from the trees. Tauriel, who was their captain, prevented Estel from getting too close lest he try to interfere.

“He knows what he is doing,” she said when Estel expressed alarm.

A pair of young Elves, new to the guard, began whispering behind them. “That is the son of Elrond Half-elven who broke the Valar’s laws, if I am not mistaken,” said one. “I wonder at the Prince working so hard to save him after all the damage he’s wreaked.”

“You talk like a fool,” admonished the other. “You forget the Prince broke the Valar’s laws too.”

They laughed then, but Estel did not understand why. However, Tauriel evidently knew something he did not, for she wheeled around at them, her face white with rage. “Dare you speak so?” she seethed. “Did Prince Legolas not handpick you for this honor, to be members of the King’s guard? And were you not grateful when he did? Say one more word against him and you will regret my wrath!”

“Forgive us, Captain,” they replied, chastened. “We forgot ourselves.”

“Indeed,” she said coldly.

Estel might have pondered the implication of these statements had he not been so concerned for Elladan’s life. Legolas was still bent over his foster-brother, sucking out great mouthfuls of his blood. Although he repeated this many times, there seemed but little change in Elladan’s condition. In the moonlight Legolas looked wild and fey. His skin was opalescent but flecked with gore. A grisly mixture of spittle and blood dripped from his lips. ‘He does more harm than good,’ Estel thought, wishing they had at least tried to make it to Thranduil’s halls, where doubtless better healers than the Prince waited. But he noticed how Legolas’ hands trembled most unusually for an Elf and how distressed his expression was, and a second thought came to him: ‘He is doing all he can to save Elladan.’ And this idea calmed him slightly, for he would have done no less himself.

Legolas was at the point of giving up, when Elladan’s eyes opened wide, as though torn from sleep like a mortal. Elladan would later say of that moment that he thought he had woken into a dream.

“What is this?” he whispered, his voice weak. “Are you truly here?”

“I am here. Be calm,” said Legolas. “The danger is passed. I have removed most of the poison.”

Elladan brushed his fingertips against Legolas’ cheek, his limbs released from their paralysis. “How sad it would be to have died without seeing you one last time, Laiqualassë.”

Their words were so softly spoken that neither Estel nor the Wood-elves heard what passed between them. And yet Legolas was conscious that his company was watching him. He pushed away Elladan’s fingers. He wiped his mouth with the heel of his palm and said loudly to Tauriel: “Have a litter built for him. We’ll carry him to the palace.”

“I can walk,” said Elladan, lifting himself to his elbows.

“Can you?” said Legolas. "You're too weak." His tone was less than kind, though there seemed no reason for it.

Upon seeing Elladan moving and talking, Estel could no longer be kept back, and he rushed to his foster-brother and knelt in joy at his side.

“Thank Eru! I took you for a goner, brother! But you’re all right now. It is most fortunate we were found when we were. The spiders were on us again. I didn’t—”

“He is not ‘out of the woods’ yet, so to speak,” interrupted Legolas, rather rudely. “I have only extracted the worst of the spider’s venom. Likely there is more within him, and he must be treated with medicines at the palace. Keep back, child. His wound needs binding. He has shed enough of his blood this night.”

Legolas’ arrogance stung Estel’s pride, and he felt little friendship toward the Elf, though he had saved Elladan’s life.

“Lassë,” chided Elladan gently. “Estel is a man grown and of great importance among his people.”

But to this Legolas said only: “Do not call me by that name, Elladan. I will not answer to it. Not anymore.”

Elladan fell silent. In his grey eyes a deep hurt shone.

Legolas pretended not to notice. To make bandages, he removed his armor and outer tunic, which was made of sueded leather, and tore his silken under tunic into long strips. With great care he bound Elladan’s side, though the incision he had made would need sutures to close completely. His torso was bare as he worked, and Estel was startled to see on his pale back the vestiges of old wounds, which were not quite scars, but fast becoming so. They were long and crisscrossing in the way of scourge marks. However, he did not have long to examine them, as Legolas caught him staring and rapidly redressed himself.

“Are you in much pain, Elladan?” he asked, returning his attention to his foster-brother and feeling oddly embarrassed for having seen Legolas’ lacerated back.

“I’ll manage,” said Elladan, but it was though he were referring to something else.

“The litter is built,” said Tauriel.

It was a rough-made thing of thin poles heaped with boughs, but it supported Elladan’s weight. Tauriel ordered two elves to carry it, and they proceeded back into the wood. As captain, Tauriel took point, her bow at the ready, while Legolas followed last. Estel walked near Elladan. Occasionally he looked back at Legolas, but the Prince’s face was mired in shadow, trained toward the ground when danger normally hit from above. They trudged for a long while in grim silence, but there was no respite from the dreary black trees.

“Let this be your first lesson, Estel,” said Elladan suddenly; he used Quenya, which was an uncommon tongue among Wood-elves. “There are many sad things in this forest. Nothing green grows here anymore. You would do well not to forget it _._ ”  


	2. Chapter 2

On his great antlered throne King Thranduil waited. He waited for his son to return. It was never without trepidation that he sent Legolas beyond the borders of the Protected Realm to survey how dark the forest was becoming and to keep evil from encroaching any further. There were times, especially these days, when it seemed an almost pointless task. For who could stop the spread of darkness coming up from Dol Guldur? Much weighed on the mind of the King. And he often thought of his father, Oropher, who had been slain in battle centuries ago, and how he would have ruled Mirkwood if he were alive.

He was to receive the delegation from Imladris today, if they survived the most treacherous passes through the wood. The sons of Lord Elrond had, in happier days, always been welcome in his halls. It was true that Thranduil cared little for the Noldor, whom he perceived lived sheltered in Rivendell and looked down on their kin in Mirkwood. What aid had Elrond ever sent his people? But his sons, who were friends with Legolas, were another matter entirely. For no one could look on the grey-eyed twins and despise them, not with their good cheer and courteous manners. And Legolas was so close with them. He was so happy in their presence. How could a loving father have ever forbidden their friendship?

What a costly error. He had been blind. He who had always counted himself wise had missed the dangers in allowing his only son to befriend Elrond’s spawn. Elladan in particular had led Legolas down dangerous paths and struck grief into his heart. 

‘Now I am letting them back into my kingdom,’ he thought. But he had good reason. Mirkwood was isolated and evil was thriving within its vast borders. Elrond had wished to make an overture of goodwill after hundreds of years without contact. Then so be it. He would allow it only to see how his people stood to benefit. There was no give without gain in his mind. The dwarves in his dungeons were proof of that. 

“Sire,” came a whispered voice at his side. “I bring news of Prince Legolas.”

“What is it, Nendir?” said Thranduil, turning toward his counselor in alarm. “Is he hurt?”

“Nothing so grave as that,” said Nendir. He was a grim-faced Elf with dark hair who had served Oropher in his day. “But Lord Elladan was attacked by a spider. Your son saved his life.”

“Did he?” said Thranduil. 

“You son is most brave, my lord. A very capable prince.”

“How do you know this? Has he returned?”

“You know my ways, sire.” Nendir dipped his head in deference. “I have seen it.” 

Of course. Nendir had the Sight. There were a few Elves who had powers that, to other races, might be interpreted as magic. Thranduil himself had his own power, but he was a king with a highborn lineage. His power was bent to preserving his kingdom. Yet Nendir was Silvan and no illustrious blood flowed through his veins. For him to have been blessed with the gift of foresight was remarkable. He made a most useful counselor, though he could not control the things he saw. Visions came and went with a will of their own. Yet he had saved Legolas several times from great harm, and for that, Thranduil was eternally grateful.

“He shall be here soon,” said Nendir. “But a word of caution, sire, if I may. Do not trust Lord Elladan. He has his eye fixed on the Prince, and he will cause some mischief if he can. He has not changed his ways. He will dishonor your son.”

“That will do!” cried Thranduil, rising from his throne, the folds of his silver robes tumbling to his feet. “Have I not told you never to discuss that with me? Think you I have not also questioned allowing Elrond’s sons to return? Yet I could not refuse his request. Our need is too great. He has assured me that Elladan will not make any trouble. He is supposedly reformed. I have advised Legolas to be wary around him. I cannot deny that my son retains some fondness for his old friend. Their friendship was innocent once. Do not doubt my judgment, Nendir. Nor his.”

“Forgive me, sire,” said Nendir. “I meant only to warn you.”

Thranduil waved his hand imperiously. “You may go. I will summon you if need arises.” 

Nendir bowed low and left. Thranduil continued his wait alone. 

So Legolas had saved Elladan’s life? Good. His son was indeed very capable, as Nendir had said. Yet Thranduil felt a sense of foreboding creep over him, and he wondered if it was not a mistake to have agreed to Elrond’s delegation. Should he not have insisted that anyone other than the twins come? It was nearly five hundred years since Elladan’s last visit to Mirkwood. He remembered it as clear as if it had only just happened, for such are the memories of Elves that they can relive any event they so choose:

 

It was high summer, and a great feast had been prepared for Legolas’ coming-of-age. There was to be wine and music and much merriment. Legolas was out in the forest, beyond the gates, which were always open in those days. Thranduil believed him with both brothers, so he was surprised to find Elrohir in the palace alone.

“Have they abandoned you?” he said playfully. “A cruel trick to play on a companion.”

“No, my lord,” said Elrohir with a wry smile. “Legolas and Elladan are always wont to wander off by themselves. I don’t mind. It is the way of things, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Thranduil, for something in Elrohir’s response had given him pause.

Elrohir looked discomfited suddenly, as though he regretted saying anything at all. “I meant only that Legolas and Elladan are very close and that they enjoy each other’s company as good friends do.” 

“And are you not also Legolas’ ‘good friend?’” asked Thranduil.

Elrohir ducked his head. “I should like to think so. Yet perhaps not to the same extent.”  
That evening, the feast was held in a grassy clearing, on a large pavilion specially constructed for the occasion. Thranduil sat in a high-backed chair at the pavilion’s far end, drinking from a goblet of wine. He felt peaceful as he listened to the strums of the musicians on their lyres. The cares of kingship were not so easily set aside, but he would do it for his son on this most important of days. Unfortunately, his peace did not last. A familiar presence soon appeared at his side.

“Sire,” said Nendir into Thranduil’s ear. “Look at Lord Elladan and your son. Do they not seem strange to you?”

Thranduil glanced over his goblet. In a far corner of the pavilion, underneath a flickering torch, stood Elladan and Legolas, their heads bent together in whispered conversation. Elladan was the taller of the two. He was older than Legolas by several centuries and an Elf fully grown. Legolas, in contrast, was still a slim youth. Thranduil could not tell over the chatter of the other Elves what the two were discussing, but it was clear it was of a pleasant nature. Legolas was laughing. Once he even buried his face in Elladan’s shoulder, as if to stifle his mirth. Close by, Elrohir and young Tauriel watched the pair in amusement.

“Legolas is drunk,” said Thranduil. “He’s had too much Dorwinion. Hardly surprising, as he has just come of age.”

“I think it is more than that,” replied Nendir. “That Noldo is too bold.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand your meaning.” 

Though Thranduil spoke lightly, he was deeply unsettled, for he had not wanted to acknowledge what was right in front of him. It was indeed strange how tender Elladan’s gestures toward Legolas were. During the course of their conversation, his eyes never once wavered from Legolas’ face. Legolas laughed and so did he. Every smile was mirrored. He even grabbed Legolas’ hand at one point, though he did not hold it for very long. 

Running through Thranduil’s mind were the words he had exchanged with Elrohir earlier that day. He could not find any real fault in the way Elladan and Legolas were interacting, but he wanted it to stop.

“Legolas!” he cried in a loud voice.

Immediately, the musicians ceased to play their instruments, and the dancers stopped their movements. All Elves turned toward their king.

Only Legolas was too drunk to understand the danger. “What is it, adar?” he called back. “Shall I give my speech?” And before Thranduil could respond, he launched into the speech, which all Elflings upon reaching their majority give:

“I stand before you all no longer a child but a warrior. I offer my bow for the protection of the kingdom and promise to seek only that which will bring happiness to her people. May the trees grow ever green in our beloved forest. May I bring honor and joy to the king my father, and to my blessed mother, who dwells in peace beyond these shores. May I serve my people with all the strength in my possession. And may I always remain true to my friends.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “I will answer the call of my heart,” he said suddenly. “I cannot hide it.” Then, before the entire party, as his father watched, he grabbed Elladan and kissed him full on the lips. 

The pavilion was plunged into silence. The Elves stood agape.

“Foul! Foul!” muttered Nendir. “Did I not warn you?”

Thranduil rose up from his seat in shock. “What have you done?”

“Adar,” began Legolas.

But Thranduil interrupted him. “Be gone! Get away from here. Return to the palace. You have shamed yourself tonight.”

“I have not,” said Legolas. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Get out!” shouted Thranduil. “Do not dare show yourself to me unless I demand your presence first. That is an order, Legolas. I am your king as well as your father.   
You must obey me!”

“My lord,” said Legolas sullenly, and he left the pavilion, but not without a glance back at Elladan, who watched him go with an uneasy expression. 

“As for the rest of you,” said Thranduil, addressing his people, “leave me. The feasting is over. You,” he hissed at Elladan. “You stay.”

“My lord!” said Elrohir, rushing forward. “There has been a misunderstanding. You mustn’t be too quick to anger.”

“Leave here, Elrohir son of Elrond. I wish only to speak with your brother. I want to know why my son did what he just did. I have been fond of you in the past. Please   
do as I ask. Remember that you are in my realm. If you do not leave, I will order guards to make you.”

“Then I will fight them!” exclaimed Elrohir, reaching for the sword at his side.

“Elrohir, don’t be so stupid!” said Elladan. “Go, brother. The King and I will talk. There are things that must be said.” 

“You play a dangerous game,” murmured Elrohir. “Be careful.”

“I shall do my best,” he replied.

They were the only three left on the pavilion amid the ruins of the feast: Thranduil had asked that Nendir remain. Elladan seemed not the least bit embarrassed. Instead he looked prepared…as though he had been waiting a long time for this moment to come.

“I want your honest answers,” said Thranduil. “You owe this to me.”

“I do not wish to lie,” replied Elladan.

“Legolas was drunk. Is that why he kissed you?” 

“I know that it is what you would want me to say, but no. No, my lord. That is not why.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“He loves me.”

“How do you mean?”

Elladan did not hesitate. “As lovers do.”

“And do you love him in this same way?”

“Yes, my lord.” 

Thranduil turned away for a moment, unable to continue the questioning. “It is against the Valar’s laws for two Elves of the same sex to love each other in such a way,” he finally said, grinding out the words. “Never among the Eldar has this occurred.”

“It is said Fingon and Maedhros bore a similar love for each other,” said Elladan. “It is not unknown.”

“Such perversity is common among the Noldor then,” sneered Nendir. 

Elladan started. “Do not speak so about my kin!” he snapped. “High Kings they were. But what are you?”

“I am no High King of the Noldor,” said Nendir smugly. “And yet no matter. Everyone knows what end they came to.”

“You think you are better than us,” said Thranduil, peering into Elladan’s eyes. “You do, and you have always done. Ever have the Noldor condescended to frolic with the Wood-elves, my people.”

“That is not true, my lord!” protested Elladan. “I have spent the happiest days of my life in your kingdom.”

“And this is how you repay me?” demanded Thranduil. “By bringing the Valar’s doom upon my son?”

“I cannot help that I love him nor that he loves me. It is a pure, honest love I swear to you. There is nothing perverse in it.”

“Lies! Do not listen to him, sire,” said Nendir. “There is a reason such love, if one dares call it that, has existed only among the Noldor. They are an accursed race, despite their vaunted lineage. Elladan, a full-grown Elf, saw your son, still a child, and took advantage of his innocence in such matters.”

“You know nothing!” cried Elladan. “I did not take advantage of Legolas. I would never!”

“Is it love or lust that drew you to the Prince?”

“Love!”

“Have you lain with him?”

“My lord!” said Elladan to Thranduil. “You would permit this beastly question?”

Thranduil’s gaze was cold. “Answer it.”

“You fiend! Have you not ‘seen’ it?” Elladan rounded on Nendir in desperation. “I have done nothing that Legolas did not also want.” 

“Then you admit you have lain with him?”

“Yes.”

Thranduil shuddered. “You have used my son in this base manner. I cannot forgive you that.”

“It was his choice, my lord.”

“His choice?” scoffed Nendir. “More like you forced it on him! You vio—”

The counselor could not finish the insult, for Elladan had drawn a dagger from his belt and was pointing it menacingly at him. “One more word like that and I will kill you, though I forfeit my own life to do so. I have never forced myself upon Legolas, and I would rather suffer death than commit such an abomination. I love him. I could not harm him.” 

“Elladan! Put down the knife. I believe you would not intentionally harm Legolas. You would already be dead if I thought you guilty of such a crime.” 

Slowly Elladan lowered his blade. Nendir drew back behind his king.

“Even so,” continued Thranduil, “you have harmed my son. As his elder, you should have known better than to lead him down this wicked path. Were you not aware of the Valar’s laws?”

“I was, my lord.”

“Were you not also aware that those who break them are marked forever, destined to lead lives of darkness and despair?” 

“Yes. I knew what was portended. But we are happy, my lord. We know no darkness or despair when we are together.”

“Legolas’ happiness is all I desire. He is the only family I have left since his mother sailed, wearied beyond measure after his arduous birth. I must protect him, but I did not think I would need to protect him from you. Does your father know of your inclination?”

“I have never discussed it with him or with anyone except Elrohir.”

“Because it is shameful!” said Nendir, feeling brave again. “It is wrong. How did you worm your way into the Prince’s bed? What spell did you cast over him?”

“Foul snake!” spat Elladan. “There was no spell. I did not win Legolas’ love through incantation. I wish not to speak of it, for I fear wounding the King further.”

“You said you would answer anything!”

“Be silent, Nendir!” cried Thranduil. “Do not speak anymore unless I say! I’ve no wish to dissect my son’s most intimate moments. You’ve gone too far already. But tell me this, Elladan, how long have you been pursuing this relationship under my nose?”

“I confess that I have loved him for many years, but it is only during this last visit that I learned that his feelings echoed mine. I tell you, my lord, I would never have acted upon them had Legolas not confessed to having them too. I did not coerce him in any way to sin against the Valar. I would have been content to conceal my love forever. I did not trick him into loving me in this way. Indeed I would rather he did not love me. I can bear my own pain well enough, but could not stomach being the cause of his.”

“So your relationship is still young?” asked Thranduil. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then the hurt that its ending generates will not be too lasting. For it must end, Elladan. You know this. I will not allow it to continue.”

“I have something to say, my lord, and it will not please you.” Elladan straightened, regaining the proud composure he had lost at the start of this interrogation. “Legolas and I are pledged to one another.”

Nendir gasped. “Did I not say the Noldo was too bold? He will stop at nothing short of the Prince’s total ruination!”

“You have pledged yourself to my son?” The rage that Thranduil had so far kept in check now threatened to erupt. He moved toward Elladan until he was but a hair’s breadth from him. “What are you doing?” he whispered dangerously. “Have you gone mad?”

“I am not mad, my lord,” said Elladan. He did not flinch, but instead met Thranduil’s glare with stony resolve. “I love your son.”

“You test the Valar with this folly. A Noldo male pledged to my son! You would make a mockery of him. He is young. He does not know the world as you do. You have tempted him with dangerous fruit, and now you would chain him to you forever! Legolas’ destiny does not lie with you, Half-elven.”

“You cannot decide his destiny for him!”

“He is a Sindarin prince. He owes a duty to his people.”

“And what duty is that?” 

“There is in an evil that lurks in the shadows of this forest…and it is waiting for the right moment to show itself. My people are vigilant. We keep watch. We do not, as a rule, like to host strangers within our borders. I have let you in the secret places of my kingdom. I have looked on you and your brother with favor, never dreaming that my affection for you was a harbinger of any danger. I was remiss. I see that now. Legolas’ duty is to safeguard the realm. He may very well be its king one day.”

“But that day might never come,” said Elladan.

“Fathers die!” roared Thranduil, overtaken by emotion. “My own did. I watched him fall on the battlefield. He charged early. It was his own fault. So they said. So your kin said. Perhaps in your lessons as a youth you were taught to blame Oropher for his death. I found no pity from the Noldor. My father’s body was broken and bloody, and yet there was no pity to be found.”

“The Noldor lost many valiant Elves that day too,” said Elladan quietly. “Gil-galad…” 

“Gil-galad!” mocked Thranduil. “Another High King! He is praised in song and verse, whilst my father is ridiculed. I never expected to be king. Yet there I was, forced to assume the mantle of leadership. The same may happen to Legolas. Whether he marries or not is his decision. But if he does, it will be to one of his own people. Never will I let a Noldo so close to the throne.”

“I do not covet your throne, my lord.”

“Legolas is the throne! An Elven marriage is made for life. He cannot marry you. It would be a disgrace.”

“It would break his heart to end it. Care you nothing for that?”

“I care everything for it. I do not doubt Legolas loves you.” Thranduil reflected. “I have seen that he does. Your friendship has made him happier than he has ever been. But will it last? I am familiar with the tragic history of the Noldor. Fingon and Maedhros loved each other in the same way. Did their happiness last? No. The Valar besieged them with many torments. They ended their lives in agony. Is that what you want for Legolas?” 

“That need not be his fate,” said Elladan gently. “Our love harms nobody. The Valar may be merciful with us.”

“As Elves, we love only once in our lives. The Valar forbids relationships between Elves of the same gender, for we must beget children, which we do only rarely. If Legolas marries you, he will never know the joys of fatherhood.”

“It is a loss we would both have to bear.”

“He does not have to feel its sting. Release him from his pledge and he will have the chance at a normal life.”

“My lord,” said Elladan, “I cannot. The Valar’s doom be damned! He brings me such happiness as I have never known. We love deeply only once in our lives. I am not ashamed to say that Legolas is that love. I did not tell you of our pledge so that you might order me to break it. You do not have that power.”

“You are proud, Elladan son of Elrond, but you are also a fool. You do not have Legolas’ happiness in mind. You are selfish. You have lived many more centuries than my son. He was an innocent when he met you. He knew nothing of love. I can banish you from the kingdom, forbid you ever to return. That I will do. But I can make it so that you leave without saying goodbye. I am not heartless. I will let you bid him farewell, but you must release him from his pledge.”

“I cannot,” said Elladan. “I will not.”

However, despite this refusal, Thranduil sensed that Elladan was weakening. “You will,” he said, “and this is why. If you follow through with your plan, then Legolas will suffer. Think you his people will accept a prince with you as his spouse? A Noldo and a male? They will not. They will not understand and they will scorn him. His own people will reject him. Maybe he will try to run away with you. Where would he go? To Imladris? To your father? Would you sunder him from his kin? Wherever you go, you will encounter those who disapprove of your relationship. He will lead a hunted life. And always the Valar’s doom will hang over you. Would you still flout their laws if it meant his death? I will not lose my son like I lost my father. If you truly love him, Elladan, you will see that it is for the best to let him go. What say you?”

Elladan was quiet for a long moment. His grey eyes were deeply troubled. Eventually he said, in a voice choked with sadness: “What you ask of me is more than I can bear. But I will do it, for I see that I have no choice. It will break him, but he is young and may heal. I do not think I will be so fortunate.”

“I would not protest your relationship,” said Thranduil, “if there was any chance of it succeeding. But I do not foresee how such a thing will ever be possible. The Valar themselves would have to decree it.” 

“I would still be Noldor.”

Thranduil managed a thin smile. “And then there’s that. Go to Legolas now. You may have a few moments alone. I’ll have Nendir take you. You and Elrohir must be gone by dawn’s first light. I will see to it you have all the supplies you need. Henceforth you are not to return to the Woodland Realm. You are not to send any message to Legolas. All communication between you is finished.”

“In doing this,” warned Elladan, “you hurt not only me but him as well.”

Yet Thranduil was not moved. “We all must taste heartbreak at some point,” he said, in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. “We are made stronger by our sufferings. Legolas will recover. He will see that what passed between you was only a dream. Dreams fade. We forget them. I suggest you take comfort in that.” 

 

Five hundred years later and Thranduil would learn whether Elladan had taken his advice. If he were wise, the Noldo would let the past remain in the past. Legolas had long since moved on from their parting, which had been painful. He never spoke of either brother. He was older now and took pride in his role as prince and protector of Mirkwood. In his heart he recognized the folly of his dalliance with Elrond’s son. It had never been more than an illusion of love. The long years following had made him see that. 

Thranduil trusted his son enough not to fear he would make the same mistake twice. But he was less sure about Elladan, though he refused to admit as such to Nendir. He chanced much in letting Elladan back into his kingdom. The people knew why he had been banished and they were bound to talk amongst themselves once they learned of his return. Another scandal might destroy—and permanently so—any hope of a diplomatic relationship with Imladris, which they sorely needed at this dark and perplexing time.

All Thranduil could do now was wait.

After a while, a guard approached and announced: “The Prince has returned.”

“Send him to me,” replied Thranduil, settling into his throne. He would greet the Peredhil twins from a seat of power. To Elladan he would show that, though he had lifted the banishment, nothing had really changed, and nothing ever would.


End file.
